Back to Reality
by Trey St. Clare
Summary: This wasn't right. None of this was right. And at some point he would figure out which was which. Was it the life he seamed to be living the here and now that until this point he had never questioned, or was it the world that he remembered so vividly in his head, the dream that never faded. Well little Loki it is time to pick, find your way back to reality. If you can.
1. Chapter 1

Loki's run of journey into mystery is over, my OTP strewn in the ruined ashes of it's once great self.

Or is it? I dont know how this is going to go, I have an outline for the whole story, but I might start writing it and decide it was a bad idea. So if you like it let me know and I shall endever to keep going.  
But for now have a chapter and see what you think.

as always I own nothing!

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It was hot, to hot. The rage built inside him, and it seared his flesh like a brand of his emotions, hot and clear to see across his face.  
There was no noise as his voice filed in his throat, none save for the soft snap of hollow bones, and wet gurgle of Ikols blood as it dribbled hot down his chin.  
He had won, but at what price, this was it, this was the end.

And as the blood ran down his throat, it burned and he found it hard to breath. He was drowning, his lungs burned for air that they could not have. Yet the blood lacked all the metallic tang and taste he had come to associate with the thick substance, it was thin and salty.  
He closed his eyes, accepting the lie, not sure of what would come next, what it would feel like to simply cease to be. With hot salty liquid still on his face, on his tongue, lungs still burning, he was falling. Though he felt quite sure he was standing still his body dropped. Eyes squeezed shut braced for impact and with a resounding thud he hit.

His body jolted, and he gasped, dragging in a great lung full of air. The world seemed wrong, there was not hard marble under his form as had been with him and Ikol, and the green light from the hellish magic flames, had been replaced with the soft amber of Midgardian street lamps shining in through his window. He desperately tried to shake the sleep from his mind as the information in his head tried to knit itself back together. His cheeks where tear streaked eyes hot and blurry with shed and unshed tears, he sat up pushing his skinny frame up on his elbows. Loki had never had a bed, he had a mat surrounded by books in the dusty attic of an abandoned tower, yet he knew this to his room, his bed. He accepted that these where just the remnants of a dream, yet to make their way out of his head, and soon he would have his wits fully about him.  
But they did not leave. The memories of two lives stayed stuck as vivid and violent as though real and lived through, both fighting in his head for dominance. Loki passed a glance at the night stand, the red flashing display reading 3:47 as it blinked at him in the darkness. He slumped down on his pillow cold damp patch from his tears rested against his face, as he stared blankly into the darkness. Willing himself to go back to sleep, finish the dream, when you wake it will be out of your system.  
Though the sleep did not come easily, tossing and turning, convinced that he was not use to such comfort as a bed, though he knew that to be false. He slept in this bed every night for the past seven years, since Hela, he shook his head Helen adopted him. He would allow himself no excuse for this as he tossed and turned further, desperately trying to find comfort upon the bed.  
The light through the window was blinding as he woke facing it. He was unsure of when he had finally gotten back to sleep, but as he shook himself back to wakefulness he knew one thing it had been dreamless. Blanc and black and brief, and as he lay there with his forearm covering his eyes from the bright morning sun he could still remember all of his two lives.

He lay like that for some time, bathed in the sun that filtered in through his window, all this thinking, it was making him sick. He tried to sift through his newly acquired memories, trying to find flaw with them, despite the obvious that mythical god's don't exist. He had little luck despite the glaringly obvious already mentioned flaw, the continuity of the dream could not be faulted. He through his arm off from his face and sat up, there was little he could do for it, as strange as the situation seamed he could only wait for it to correct itself. There was nothing he could personally do and, well let's just say the odds were against him enough, adopted, scrawny, a loner, spends more time in his fantasy world than real life, known to others as trouble and confirmed by himself to be bad news. Going around telling people he had the memories of a Norse god stuck in his head, well that was not going to do him any favours.

It felt like hours that he lay there thinking, but he knew it wasn't. Helen would not let him "waste the day in bed" so the knowledge that she hadn't called on him, or sent Leigh to retrieve him, was enough to tell it was not as long as it felt. Relenting to his own helplessness in the situation definitely did seemed like the best option, although it would turn out to be far from the easiest. Lethargically he dressed, shuffling round his room looking for the matching green sock before giving up and settling with the odd black one, tatty denims and a green t shirt that only looked one size bigger than him and he was more or less ready for the day. He marched down the stairs into the kitchen, Leigh and Helen where already up and bright, Helen sat at the table with the daily newspaper spread before her, single hand holding a steaming cup of coffee just abreast of her lips. Leigh sat opposite her black t shirt and blue denims fitting her better than any of the cloths in Luke's closet, although that was mostly through choice, as she eyed her cereal. The attention of both drifted to him as he entered the kitchen, and as he made to the counter to fix himself some serial, he felt the makings of a haircut related conversation coming. But as he poured the milk and turned back around he saw a note of concern in the otherwise stern and dutiful eyes of Helen, and a guarded concern in the eyes of Leigh. However when his attention slid to Leigh, her eyes fell back to her breakfast the air of disinterest falling over her side of the table.  
"You look terrible." It was neither a question not an insult, merely a statement that came from Helen as she folded closed her newspaper and looked across the table at him, drinking her coffee.  
"Doesn't he always." Leigh sneered across her cereal at him but it held none of the fervour that her usual morning teasing had. Surely he could not look bad enough to get sympathy from Leigh. At this he cast a glance to her, but as his eyes met with hers the oddest sensation came over him. His stomach lurched and his head spun like the after effect of being caught in a rip tide. They were meshing together again. And the speed at which his mind swapped Leigh for Leah could give him whip lash.  
He quickly tore his eyes away, in a desperate bid to stop the feeling and clear the two in his head.

_This was Leigh, annoying snotty goody two shoes Leigh. She makes fun of you for playing kids games, and hides your books and socks. Leah is made up, from some two real dream, with a short temper, and long hair, like silk, and she likes milkshakes, mint choc chip ones, and her eyes . . . come on keep it together!_

The emotions steadied as he focused staring down at his cereal, like it held all the answers in the world, dragging his spoon aimlessly through it. Only when he was fully confident that his mind was back in the game did he venture to look back up at the two of them. Instantly he wished he hadn't. The questionable looks from both where marred with concern, and the last thing he wanted right now was the inquisition.  
"I didn't sleep to well, I feel kinda sick." He put his eyes back down to his breakfast and took a tentative spoon full, clinging to the hope that his answer had been enough to satisfy them. That his lack in eye contact hinted at how little he wanted to carry on this line of conversation.  
"Yea you don't look so good." Helen put down her coffee and strode to his side, he glanced from under his sweat matted bangs to meet her vision. As she put a hand to his forehead.  
"Well you don't seem to be running a fever, but you certainly don't look well." she sighed "I was going to take you and Leigh to the mall today, to pick up some new cloths for school starting back. But from the looks of it you would do better to stay in bed today." Well there was always a silver lining, for the reason his cloths fitted him so ill was that he despised no place like he despised the mall. He would sooner face Surtur's forces a second time than be forced to . . . . and he was doing it again want he.  
"I think that that would be the best idea" He put his head down and continued swilling his cereal that was all but turning to mush now in the milk.  
"Ok then go back to bed and try and sleep it off," She looked over at Leigh "Come on lets go before the car park gets too full." He never turned around but he heard the push of Leigh's chair, the rustle of Helens handbag, and the jingle of her SUV's keys as they made their way to the door.  
All he could do was look at the milk and mushy cereal he truly did not feel like eating.


	2. Chapter 2

This was several kinds of insane, each a different shade to the ones he was used to. He wasn't above admitting that it was starting to scare him. It seemed worse than it had when he woke up in the middle of the night, and then he could put it off to the hour and his tired mind, but now awake and alert it somehow seemed worse. Now without giving it a second though his mind was associating the people he knew around him with the characters of the dream. It should be simple enough to sort out just remind yourself that they don't exist, like that imaginary friend you had when you were younger. It should not have been this much of a problem for him to disassociate the two characters in his head, or at least it should not worry him so much.  
But no it was not that simple, when he had looked at Leigh he had confused her for Leah however, he had felt in that single moment all the feelings Loki felt for her. His heart beat faster and his chest felt heavy and hollow, like when an elevator drops to many floor too quickly. The pain the regret the sorrow, the all hit him like it had really been him that had lived through them; it should not feel like this. For one; he should not be echoing the feelings of a character he only dreamed, and two this was Leigh. She was his foster sister, although there was no blood relation between the two it didn't sit right, and if he was subconsciously in charge of his dreams, the he was to blame for his alter ego and his romantic fixation with Leah, and if he had subconsciously linked Leah with Leigh, well what did that say about him.  
It had been almost an hour since Helen and Leigh had left for the mall, and all that Luke could do was sit frozen in the same spot they had left him. He had long since pushed the decaying grey matter that once was his breakfast away from him and was sitting slouched in the uncomfortable wooden dinning chair. His head had been going in these same circles since the pair had left, and he was still no closer to finding out what he should do about it. He had to think about this pragmatically, he had to first accept that he was insane. Once that was over he could try to pick up the tattered pieces of his psyche. Ok so he was mad, he had always known that, first step accomplished, now what. He through his head back, matted hair falling limply off of his face, and let out a sigh. He uncrossed his arms from where they sat on the front of his chest, and rubbed his face desperately clawing like it held the answer, when that helped little he ran his hands though his hair only to find them stuck in the matted locks, well that was gross, just because he was mad did not mean he had to be gross. He stood up many people think better in the shower who is to say that he was not one of them. In fact yes he did most of his best thinking in the shower! That theory that turned out to be correct for Doctor who, that Sherlock fanfiction that got over 100 comments, yea all good thoughts come in the shower!  
Evidently not all good thoughts come in the shower he had been in there for just under half an hour and nothing had struck him, well accept that Leigh's strawberry shampoo had in all actuality probably never seen a strawberry in its life, perhaps at one point the bottle had been shown an image of a strawberry but that was as close as the chemical sweet scented liquid came. That is not to say however that it did not leave his main in a glorious condition. He had got dressed again and his cloths clung to him in an uncomfortable fashion as his frame was still wet. He threw himself down on his bed, he had really hoped that some form of idea would come to him but, well it just wasn't there. He sat up and towel dried his hair tossing the towel in the washing basket, he reached into his top drawer and pulled from it the large and tatty, why was everything he owned so old and run down, A4 note pad and pen, as he balanced it on his knee and started to take down notes. Everything he knew about the dream world, about Asgardia, the people he would write it down. That was as good an idea as he had at the moment, not it down then try to work it out. If he had based Leah and Hela on Helen and Leigh, then there must be other people in his town, people that he had unconsciously wrote into his dreams that made up the rest. If he could work out all the bits of the dream he could work on disassociating himself from the dream entirely, prove to himself that it was all some horrid ploy from his twisted subconscious.  
It wasn't much but at the moment it was the best plan that he had. The day grew late and the bright morning sun had turned to the warm orange of the late afternoon. And the large silver SUV, careered to a slow halt in the drive way. Doors closed with muffled thuds and the rustling of bags, and keys and doors opening, closing. Leigh and Helen where home, but it did little to draw him from his concentration. He sat on the floor of his room, papers strewn around with his scribbled handwriting and sketches drawn by shaky hands, surrounding him. He had been at it for hours and he was determined to write all that was in his head down, like releasing the pressure from a bottle of soda, he hoped it would free up space for him to think.  
So deep in his thoughts was he he missed the padding of feet on the wooden floors of the hall the rustle of bags, not until the sound of his door opening reached his ears did he snap out of his concentration. Leigh stood in the door way with a bag of drive through in her hand staring inquisitively at him, and the mess of papers.  
"God Leigh, don't you know how to knock!" He made a mad scramble to collect all of the papers to himself, lest she see any of the information he had so tirelessly jotted down. But she made no bid to move, she only stood there, eyes questioning him as though he had not finished his sentence and she hung for the ending. "I mean I could be doing, anything in here!"  
At this she cracked a smile.  
"No Luke, that which you refer to is to normal for someone like you being caught at." She shrugged lifting her hands in defeat. "But if the pretence makes you happy I shall endeavour to knock next time." The grin was still present on her face, though why he was staring so intently as to notice he would rather ignore. She made to move forward the bad held forward in an offering gesture.  
"Here, we brought you back drive through." She held her hand forward towards him, and he reached out to take the bag from her hand, unfolding it he reached inside to remove one of the French fries from the top.  
"You still look terrible." He heard the statement but he didn't have to look up to meet her gaze he could picture it. The look that said she was resigning herself to the fact that she was actually concerned about him. He had seen it before, but not on her face. Perhaps he should look, prove that they were not the same person. So he did, he looked up and met the look he felt like they had seen several times before in another world. He sighed, this was taking him nowhere fast.  
"Yea? Thanks, I feel a lot worse than I look I can assure you." He rummaged into the bag for another one of the fries. "Thanks for the drive through, did you and Helen have a good time?" it was pathetic he knew but he wanted to avoid as many question as he could the pathetic small talk was all he could manage. And as his eyes lifted to watch for her reply she dropped hers, hands fell to her side and she slowly turned to make for the door again, three quarter view to him she answered but never spared him a glance as she left.  
"Yea it was ok, you should be in bed, if you feel worse than you look maybe we should call you an ambulance." She waved a dismissive hand as she passed through the threshold of his room, and she was gone. He needed to sort this out; it was starting to really freak him out.


End file.
